Lucien Blackfang sat behind his desk, his fingers gripping the leather arms of his chair so hard the material began to crack. A sharp, rhythmic throbbing vibrated in his chest—right where a jagged scar sat over his heart.
Since the moment Gwen Harlow walked out of the Grand Hall and knelt to another man, the wound had begun to change. It started as a dull ache, then a burning heat, and now, it was a living thing. The skin around the scar was turning an obsidian black, the veins radiating outward like a spiderweb of poison.
"Damn it," Lucien growled. When he pulled his hand away from his mouth, it was stained with dark, sluggish blood.
"Lucien! Oh, Moon Goddess, you look terrible!"
Sienna rushed into the room, her face pale with a panic that wasn't entirely fueled by concern. In her hands, she carried a tray of expensive human antibiotics, high-end painkillers, and rare herbal poultices she had bought from the black market.
